For @abloodneed, one of the most amazing, beautiful men alive. Thank you for always being you.
There were certain things that Magnus feared. The loss of a loved one—his mind flashed to quick strides, dark hair and hazel eyes—, the loss of a friend—his breath caught at the image of dark eyes, dark hair streaked with grey, twin horns, and skin grown cold—, and the loss of his children—the downworlders he’d taken underneath his wings. His fingers dug into the oak coffee table, scouring the wood as his mind supplied him with images of everyone of them that he’d lost. Drawing in breath was hard, like he was suffocating, a direct contradiction to the cool breeze wafting into the outdoor patio of the mundane bar he’d decided to visit. Sometimes, he just needed that time to himself, amongst the mundanes that entertained him with how they scurried about in their daily lives, unaware of the world that existed in the shadows.
He did just that at the moment, watching them go about their lives when suddenly, everything… froze. From the waiter who had been heading to his table, to the lovers celebrating their recent engagement. Even the late night dog walker and her dog were frozen in place, her with a hand halfway up her hair, and the dog with his tongue half pulled into his mouth. As he took in the the sight, everyone frozen as far as he could he could see, and as he heard those footsteps, calm and unhurried, that oozing mass of power that would cower a lesser man, have them scurrying away or bending their heads in submission, Magnus came face to face with his biggest fear.
“Drinking alone,” a voice he’d heard only once in his life and had hoped he would never hear again wafted out to him, moments before the owner of the voice slid into the seat across from him. White suit—expensive as expected, stretched over a tall lanky form. “Now that doesn’t suit you Magnus,” he drawled as he casually shrugged off the jacket, undid the diamond studded cufflinks so he could roll up his sleeves and show off his forearms. Long lean fingers reached up to run through hair that was kept in place by the crown of barbed wire on his head. He waved his hands and men—shapeshifting demons, Magnus was sure—who’d accompanied him all gave them a wide berth.
“And how would you know what suits or doesn’t suit me,” Magnus tossed back as he reached for his glass of bourbon. “You don’t know me.”
The man grinned, teeth sharp in the moonlight. “Now, now Magnus. Why would you say that? Is that how you speak to your father?”
Magnus raised a brow and took a sip of his bourbon, eyes hard as he stared back at Asmodeus.